


And We All Fall Into The Flames

by SeaWitchDreams



Category: High Noon Over Camelot - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 02:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaWitchDreams/pseuds/SeaWitchDreams
Summary: Guinevere had always known the world is ending.
Relationships: Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot (High Noon Over Camelot)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: Mechs Album Week





	And We All Fall Into The Flames

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know why Raphaella is here. I did not invite her.

_“Faith can take many forms, and all of them kill us in the end.”_

For as long as Guinevere has been alive, the world has been ending.

she has known for as long as she can remember. she knows it in her bones, down to the heart of her, the way she knows that fire burns and water saves and hesitation can always kill you.

There were days in which the station was not so hot, they say. and there was more water around, and less blood on the rust. There were more people around once, she heard, and they didn’t kill each other so much. But the days then are not the days now, and the days now are getting worse.

The world is ending. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to take much longer.

it’s almost a competition, sometimes. Guinevere stares at the electrical sun above her, at the endless metal desert, and thinks, _let’s see which one of us ends first._

(Guinevere looks at the people around her, every single one of them, and thinks, _let’s see which one of us ends first,_ and her hand is never far from the handle of her gun).

Arthur tells her of his dreams, sometimes, when the two of them lay together in small rooms in dying towns, talking of their plans to carve themselves a place in the world, of making Camelot their own.

 _Things could be different, under us._ He tells her. _Better. Brighter. It could be a golden age._

Guinevere doesn't believe him. Not once.

Lancelot does, sometimes. It is the first thing Gwen ever loves about him - that very first night, with the three of them sitting around in a saloon in a town whose name she will never be able to remember, drinking bad whiskey and trying carefully to take each other’s measures, to determine whether this is an alliance that could hold. Art starts talking about Camelot, about all there is and all that could be, about law and order and justice, and Gwen watches the newcomer’s face change as he listens, becoming serious and full of light. And thinks, _this one could work. This one feels right._

(“You really think he can do it?” She asks Lance, years and years later, as the stones’ blood slowly dries at their feet “That we can do it?”

“I don’t know.” He says quietly. “But I think we will always stand, and he will always try, and I think that’s what matters, you know?”

She knows, then, in that moment, for the first time, that she is going to love them until the end of the world. She doesn’t say it, because the words are too big, to final for this day of victory and beginning.

It’s alright. They know.)

She had met a woman with wings, once, who told her of the stars. Far off, brilliant lights, burning in the unending darkness.

“Will they still be there after the world ends?” She asked (she had known, sure as her aim, that the woman know it was coming. There was no other possibility in those pale eyes).

“Of course they will.” The woman says, leaning against the wall of the abandoned stable where they are sitting. “Your world is nothing but a tiny speck in the endless void, you know. The stars were there eons before it was born, and will not notice its death. I will go back to them, when this is over. They are waiting for me.”

Gwen has nowhere else to go. All that Gwen has – all that Gwen will ever have – is rust and fear and blood and whiskey, and Lance and Art by her side.

She does not envy the stranger her endless, empty void. She looks at the two of them, leaning against their motorcycles and laughing at some joke she missed, and thinks, _the three of us will end together,_ and she knows that in her bones, too.

Arthur has his dreams and Lancelot has his faith and Guinevere has her sense, and she has her love, too.

Guinevere does not believe in bright new worlds and golden ages, in hopes and dreams and prophets.

Guinevere believes in herself, in her sharp eyes and quick hands and her instincts. Guinevere believes in the steady pistol in her grip and the fast wheels underneath her. Guinevere believes in her town and her people and the law that she makes. Guinevere believes the world is ending.

And Guinevere believes in Arthur and in Lancelot, too. She believes the world has not ended yet.

She believes they still have time.

She is right, in the end. On all accounts.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr! I am @annietheseawitch.


End file.
